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“I’ve already handled that. Don’t talk to anyone. Just leave with Grant as quickly as you can. He won’t let anyone stop you.”
It’s surreal. The whole thing would be ridiculous if it weren’t so incredibly scary. I nod before I realize my dad would have no way of seeing the gesture. “Okay. I will.”
“I love you, Olivia. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”
He used my real name. It feels like a death knell. “I love you too,” I manage to say before I end the call. Then I stand like a statue in the doorway of my room, staring down at my phone.
“We need to move,” the man says in a low, gruff voice.
I know it’s true, but it’s easier said than done. I have no idea what’s happening here, and it doesn’t feel like my feet are going to work even if I try to move them. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “I’m Olivia Vincent.”
“I know.” He takes a step toward me, and I somehow know if I don’t get going, he’s going to make me.
“And you’re Grant, I guess. Is that your first name or your last name?”
He’s got very blue eyes. I’m not sure why I notice that detail. “Last. Now move it, girl, before I carry you out of here myself.”
I’m five ten and built like a swimmer, so I’m not used to feeling small. But I do next to this man. He’s several inches taller than me, with broad shoulders and impressive muscle development I can see even through his long-sleeved shirt. “Okay. Can I get my stuff?”
He unfolds a canvas bag and hands it to me. “You can bring anything that will fit into this. Don’t bother with clothes or toiletries. Bring personal items that can’t be replaced.”
I look at the bag. Then look at my small private room. I have no idea what to put in the bag because I don’t even know where we’re going or for how long.
“Pretend there’s a fire,” Grant mutters. “What would you grab first?”
The advice helps. As does the adrenaline pumping through my body. I pick up a photo album I put together after my mom died. My iPad. A stuffed elephant I’ve had since I was three. My mom’s favorite red pashmina. My grandmother’s Bible and her old copy of Little Women, which were her most treasured items. A velvet-soft throw blanket I take with me everywhere. That fills up the space in the bag.
“My schoolbooks?” I ask, turning to look back at Grant, who’s been watching me silently for the few minutes it takes to collect all that.
“You won’t need them.” He’s taking the bag from my hands and zipping it closed. “Let’s go.”
I gasp, befuddled by how fast it’s all happening. Am I really leaving all my other stuff? My friends? I grab my favorite leather jacket from the back of the desk chair and pull it on quickly before Grant can drag me out. Then I snatch up the crocheted bag I use as a purse since surely I’ll need my ID and lip gloss.
“That’s it,” Grant grits out. “Time to move.”
He’s really quite obnoxiously bossy.
“Give me a minute to think—”
“You don’t have a minute. Everything you need will be provided, and you already got the personal shit.”
I suck in a gasp of outrage at hearing my beloved treasures referred to as shit. By any estimation, I’ve been spoiled and sheltered. Having parents with so much money will naturally do that. But I’m not a pushover. I’m used to holding my own. And I’m simply not accustomed to being walked over like this. “I have other personal shit,” I snap. “I don’t want to forget something.”
“If you haven’t thought about it yet, then it’s not that important to you. So get your ass out the door, princess, or I’ll haul you out myself.”
In most people, this would be an idle threat, but it’s not with this man. I know it for sure. I scowl at him, but I also stop stalling. I really don’t want him to toss me over his shoulder and carry me out of the building like I’m a sack of grain.
He wraps his hand around my arm to propel me out the door and down the hall. I’ve got long, slim legs, but I still have to almost run to keep up with him.
When we step outside, a group of my classmates are hanging out before soccer practice, and they stare as Grant pulls me toward a black Jeep parked illegally on the loop at the front of the school.
It’s not a regular Jeep. It looks like a military vehicle. If the gun Grant is wearing hadn’t already convinced me of the danger, this would.
It’s not discretion that keeps me from talking as I buckle up and he gets behind the wheel and drives away from the school. It’s more that I’m frozen. Trapped in fear and bewilderment. This is like a movie or a tense, bleak dream. Not my regular life.
I assumed most of my mental energy today would be spent on that silly argument with Melanie.
Then this happened.
